


Too close to truth

by StripySock



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fuck Or Die, M/M, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-05
Packaged: 2017-11-28 06:18:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/671242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StripySock/pseuds/StripySock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gift to tfwftw for spnxmas. Sam and Dean are hit with a fuck or die curse, and must rely on Castiel to survive it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too close to truth

"This isn't working," Sam gasps, hips thrusting fruitlessly upwards at the air, cock still hard and red and aching within Dean's fingers. They've been like this for an hour now, trying everything possible. First Sam had tried sucking Dean off until his jaw ached, then they'd switched places until Dean tired as well, and then tried jerking each other with no apparent results. Fingers pushing into their asses hadn't solved the problem either, nor had Dean's dick wedged deep into him, tearing him apart with how good it felt and _still_ not letting him come. Sam can sense the buildup, the ache within himself and the heavy electricness of the air. "If we don't do something," he says, "we're going to fucking die, Dean."

 

Dean can only moan in response at first, his dick almost too sensitive to touch now after so much stimulation without fruition. "Jesus Christ, Sam," he says through gritted teeth. "Why isn't this working? The fucking spell said we had to fuck someone and get off or die. Well, I've tried fucking you and it really isn't solving anything at all."

 

Dean makes it sound so easy, like they'd been whammied with this spell and graduated smoothly and instantly to trying to fuck each other in any way possible, when the truth had in fact been a lot harder to grasp. When your dick is swelling up so hard that you can't think about anything other than burying yourself as deep as you can get in someone else, sure, your inhibitions drop, but when the only person close by is your brother, it's still not the first thing you think of. They'd tried, God knows they'd tried to resist, but when it became absolutely, utterly clear that there was no choice to this, that it was fuck each other- or travel until they found some unwitting soul willing to fuck them, then the choice became a little simpler.

 

Sam hadn’t been willing to take the risk, and however much Dean had joked, he hadn’t been either, that whatever had been done to them might be contagious. They simply knew too little about whatever had done this to risk a civilian. Not to mention that Sam rather doubted, if they turned up with aching cocks trapped behind denim, that any girl would fuck them - given that it was 1pm and the bars had only been open for an hour max. And he sure as hell wasn't using a brothel no matter how much of a fantastic idea Dean thought that was. 

 

The point is moot, of course. They’re three hours drive from the nearest town, and from the nasty smile of the filth who'd cast this spell to begin with, Sam really doubts that that sort of timeframe is realistically in the cards. So the obvious thing had been to try and fuck each other, and then promise that, after this was over, they were never going to be naked in the same room again. What had started as brutal necessary touches had gradually changed, like Dean couldn't bear the thought of being rough in any shape or fashion with a Sammy who didn't deserve that, and hell - Sam had always followed his brother down hell's avenue without much of a second's thought. Even that hadn't helped, though; it hadn't mattered if he kissed Dean from necessity’s sake or from want, the damn spell showed no signs of disappearing.

 

"Dean," he tries again, scrambling backwards, aching shivers of sensation still coursing along his limbs, dancing along his skin and making him want so badly just to shut up and lie back and hell, _die_ if it means more of this feeling. "We're going to have to try the town," he says.

 

"Can't, Sammy," Dean murmurs, as he bends his head to suck Sam in once more, like he just can’t stop himself from touching, "takes too long, remember?"

 

"Cas can take us," Sam says, and thrusts most of his hand in his mouth to stop himself from screaming when Dean takes him in almost completely, wet hot mouth sucking at him eagerly until he loses all will to tell Dean to stop. "C-Cas can zap us there, and we can find someone," he says, then cries out helplessly as Dean's fingers work their way back into him, almost nothing to slick the way bar the last of an old tube of lube found wedged in the side pocket of a duffel. "I think maybe if both of us are affected by the curse then we can't relieve each other." Dean's mouth pulls back and Sam is able to mostly finish his sentence and even make sense without the distracting pressure around him. "I think it might be like magnets," he says, "we're repelling each other."

 

Dean sits back, his lips already obscenely bruised from both the kissing and the going down. Sam's own mouth feels tender from it and he wonders if he _looks_ as debauched as Dean does, suspects from the unexpected flare of heat in Dean's eyes as he stares at him that he must. Then Dean shuts his eyes, and says "Cas," just like that, not even giving Sam time to yank a blanket over his lap.

 

The world blinks for a second, rearranges itself and then Cas stands there, brow wrinkling slightly as he looks around him, at Sam sprawled mostly naked and obscene on the makeshift camp bed, Dean kneeling there dick still hard and wet, with it all too clear what they'd been doing, and Sam is filled with shame so strong and so fierce that it fights even through the hazy lust of what they'd been doing together, even through the desperate need of the curse itself. Then Cas is there beside him, cool fingers against the heated skin of Sam's face and his embarrassment fades away like it was never there, because there is no contempt, no disgust on Cas's face, just a deep concentration like he's trying to work out what this is.

 

Dean speaks up, like he's trying to keep some semblance of control over the situation, a thought that makes something squirm deep inside Sam at how FUBAR this whole situation is- there's _nothing_ that can control this. All that can be done is minimise the inevitable damage. "Take us to the nearest town, Cas," he says, his voice deliberately deep, as though he doesn't want it to shake at all.

 

"No," Cas says briefly, offering nothing more than that.

 

"No?" Dean echoes. "You don't understand, Cas," he says, and Sam knows his brother well enough to know that he's right on the edge, fighting not to fall. "We're going to die if we don't. Hell, don't you think we've already thought about this- enough that we've tried fucking each other rather than harming anyone else." Something savage swells in Sam at the way Dean's putting it behind them already, dismissing it as necessity, not connection, and Jesus but he's _tired_ of Dean doing that, of minimising everything between them except when it suits him.

 

"I can't let you hurt anyone. Either of you," Cas says, and there's something infinitely gentle and infinitely firm in his voice. "You can't control yourselves, can't control how much you need this, and the curse will not be satisfied with just you two. I can see it, even if you can not." He's still beside Sam, traces a hand that is almost tender over his brow. "You can not see yourselves - how much it spills from you. If you touch another in the ways of love, you shall be cured, this is true, but they shall be infected in their turn, and not everyone has your strength or your will to seek consent. I cannot allow this to spread beyond you."

 

Sam closes his eyes, tries not to shake apart. "There has to be an answer," he says, and when he opens his eyes, there is. Castiel's hands are at his collar, loosening his tie, and with fast economical movements he is undoing the buttons of his shirt, hands strangely clumsy as though he has never done this before. And of course this is his first time. How could it be anything else? First time taking his tie off, first time taking his shirt off, and he's about to strip off his undershirt when Dean makes a move.

 

"Cas," he says, his face wretched. "You can't do this." Sam can't properly interpret the expression that flicks over Castiel's face as he resumes his actions.

 

"I can, and I must, Dean," he says, then flickers out of existence again for a moment, leaving them behind. Dean's still so close, and despite the fact he knows it'll do no good, Sam wants to touch him, wants to rake his fingers along his back and hold him so close that it doesn't matter what this brings. Then Cas is back and in his hand there's a tube of lube. Sam, even in the midst of everything that this is, can't forego a smile at the idea of how he got that. But it dies a pitiful death on his face when he sees Cas's expression.

 

"Cas," he says, and is surprised that his own voice is as wretched as Dean's face. "You don't have to do this." The words are meaningless, he knows. Cas will not watch them die if he can help it, any more than Dean could watch Sam die and not try and save him, always, always, no matter what it takes. He will do this for them, bind himself deeper, closer, irrevocably, to their pitiful humanity and the causes they espouse.

 

Cas kneels again, a perfect center between him and Dean, bows his head, and offers himself up. "I must," he says, and then, softer, he adds, "It must be done, and this is not so bad."

 

Then the fever strikes again, hot and dangerous at the presence of another person so close, and there is no more time to talk. At ten minutes to eleven they'd been cursed; they'd been given until ten minutes to three to satiate their need without sacrificing themselves. Time is running short, and Sam doesn't need to look at Dean to confirm what they both know. There is no time for them each to touch and taste and fill individually. They must touch together, share Cas as they have shared so much in their time, and Sam finds his dick gives a shameful throb at the thought, of pushing close to Dean as they take Cas together.

 

All thoughts take leave like birds on wing when Castiel kisses him, his mouth soft and wet and utterly inexperienced. He presses close, and, ravenous, can't restrain himself. And then Dean is pressed against them both, Cas caught between them, as Dean goes for his neck and kisses it softly. Sam can see the flash of teeth indenting in when he pulls back, blood thumping so loud he can barely hear anything else between them. He gets to work on Castiel's belted pants, threads the belt through. Dean tugs Cas into a kiss that looks so hard it hurts, as though when they break apart the imprint of Dean will be left there always, and something in Sam twists at the thought- jealousy, he thinks blindly, but doesn't know if it is of Dean or of Cas. 

 

Then Castiel stands, unclothes himself fully- no other word is appropriate for the dignity with which he does so, with which he stands there for a long moment before once again he returns to them. Every movement is measured and careful; he does not feel the need they do, but already the flesh between his legs is hard and it matches the longing in his eyes that he can't deny, as though this, _this_ is not an imposition, but a relief. 

 

"How should we do this?" Sam asks, what could be minutes or hours later, as Castiel's erection rubs against Sam's, as he rocks above him, and Dean pushes back against Cas, slides his dick achingly slowly along the line of Cas's body, as though seeking entrance. He barely recognises his own voice, so roughened and broken, as though he has screamed without knowing, as though every hoarse cry he's wanted to let out has been given vent. He almost wishes they could clutch at a shred of normality, that Dean could laugh at such a question, tease him about being an innocent, but his brother's eyes are dark and serious as he catches Sam's glance. He doesn't even reply, just opens the lube and squeezes it onto his fingers, slides them between Cas's thighs where they're split wide over Sam, and then ghosts one in.

 

When Sam looks at Cas's face, he can see it happening, see the flickers of pain that Cas denies, see the long sweep of lashes as Cas closes his eyes for one second. When he opens them, they're focusing on Sam again, like it anchors him in some way, and Sam can't look away. There's resignation there, need, and a terrible burning acceptance of what is required, of what he will give if it is asked. Like that, Sam can't wait, can't do everything or anything that he should do. Instead, he slicks his own fingers and pushes right in alongside Dean, feels the heat, the tightness of Cas around him and the roughness of Dean beside him, their knuckles bumping awkwardly, two fingers filling Cas more than seems possible, but still not as much as Sam suddenly wants to give him. He slides out and when he returns it's with two fingers to Dean's one. Castiel doesn't seem like he can take it for a second, surges up and away, then sinks back down onto them grimly, throws his head back and Sam can do nothing but push in deeper, like he’s forgotten what they do next- all he can focus on is this.

 

“Who first?” Dean says, and every bone in Sam’s body needs this, needs to be inside Cas right now, pumping out the venom and poison that runs through his veins to have it cooled and nullified by Cas’s grace, by the incorruptibility of his body. He knows Dean must feel it as well; he shuffles backwards to give them a chance, crushes his own wants as much as he can. They have time, he reminds himself. Not much, but enough. Dean has other ideas, though, and shifts Cas forward, thighs spread around Sam, until he brackets Sam’s shoulders with his hands, and Sam’s dick rubs up tight against the crease of his ass. Sam can’t help thrusting upwards, doesn’t even think of saying no to Dean’s offering, to Cas’s gift.

 

“Together,” he says, begs almost, though he doesn’t have any idea how they can do that. Dean should know, he thinks. Dean makes such a fucking big deal of how much he’s done in his life, he can put that knowledge to good use now. Dean doesn’t reply, and the next thing Sam knows, Cas is sinking onto his dick, legs locked tight, his face a blank mask as he fights not to acknowledge the pain that he can all too clearly feel. This is too much, too fast and Sam wants to regret it, wants to ease out and apologise, wants even more to tell him that _this_ is what humans feel. Pain, too much of it, but there’s the upside that Cas is now discovering: along with the pain comes the strength to deal with it. He holds back as long as he can from thrusting up, but it’s too enticing - the strength and violence of the poison in his blood and the furnace-like heat of Cas clamped around him - and he shudders upwards, feet digging in against the makeshift bed as he tries for leverage. Cas lets out a low hiss, moves with him as though to prevent him sinking deeper. It feels too good to take in all at once, and even better when Dean pushes Cas forward a little, gets himself between them to lick at the join of Cas’s ass to Sam’s dick, as though he doesn’t care about the slick artificial taste of the lubricant, just wants to be as close to them both as possible. He does it once, twice, rough licks of his tongue before he leans back, and lets Cas flow back down. 

 

Dean’s handling his own dick as he watches them, listens to the wet join of their bodies, the soft muted gasps as Sam tries and fails to restrain himself. Then, as though he can’t take it anymore, he’s crawling forward again, dick pressing against Cas’s ass, like he wants to slip in, right alongside Sam, and the thought of that sends a burning flush through Sam, one of horror tinged with a black heaving desire at the thought: Cas spread so wide round both their dicks that he can’t leave, riddled through and through with SamandDean. It’s almost a shock when Dean clearly breaks, unable to take it anymore, and slides Cas off Sam, pulls him back with hands so heavy on Cas’s hips he’ll leave marks. He holds him wide as he pushes in, fucks Cas on his hands and knees, and Sam moans at the loss. He doesn’t feel like he can take it either - he’s so on edge from needing to come, needing to be released, but he has no choice but to watch Cas rock back on Dean’s cock, easier now that he’s been opened by Sam, but still not smooth and perfect. He can’t resist leaning forward to catch Cas’s mouth again, slide his tongue in and fuck him like that, as hard as Dean’s fucking him from behind. 

 

As Dean rocks Cas forward again, Sam jerks Cas’s dick; slowly, as though not to overwhelm him, which in a sense is ridiculous given what they’ve already done. This feels different though, touching Cas like this: for him, and not just because they need to live. He can’t stop, smears the tiny drops of pre-come over the head, jacks him smoothly, almost in time with Dean’s increasingly urgent thrusts. The need is curling up inside him again, sinking tiny pincers into his nerves, a rough raw sensation in his veins, and he’s not sure how long he can last like this. Then Cas is on his dick again, one thumb smoothing endlessly over Sam’s mouth as he engulfs him completely, and Sam can almost feel the traces of Dean still in Cas, thrusts up harder, wants to take every inch of him, feel what Dean has felt, share the same space as him. That, finally, is enough to make him come, a burning endless rush of sensation pouring through him and spilling into Cas, an ugly primal triumph pounding through his veins as he does it, with a chaser of life following it. 

 

He gets seconds to finish before Dean is pushing right back in, through what Sam has left, pounding his hips in so hard that Sam’s surprised once again at how much Cas can take without making a sound. It doesn’t take much longer for Dean to come, hips snapping him in deep, fingers squeezing in tight on Sam’s thigh, and Sam gets his hand around Cas in time, jerks him off again, this time to a climax that seems to come almost as more of a surprise to him than anything else that has happened. He shivers his way through it, still doesn’t moan through his bitten lips. Now that Sam’s head is clear, now that he’s not overwhelmed with desperate base need, he can feel shame at the way they’ve treated him. 

 

Castiel’s eyes open then and fix on his, uncompromising and stern. “This was necessary,” he says, and there is truth and power in his words. “Regret is foolish and futile,” and just like that, he’s pulling away from them both, still smeared in his come, wet with theirs, but Castiel again entirely, remote and inexplicable as always, like he hadn’t fallen apart between them for long fragile seconds. Sam can’t let that happen, knows Dean can’t either. When Castiel is clothed again, he will not be theirs; this will be washed away, like sin hidden but not expunged. So he holds out a hand, loops his fingers round Cas’s wrist lightly, carefully; there has been no tenderness between the three of them so far and he doesn’t want to groove that pattern too deep.

 

“Stay,” Dean says quietly, and he’s behind Cas again, face turning into the curve of his neck, and Sam pulls Cas back down to keep him for this instant between him and Dean. There’s a long way ahead of them; a moment of peace, however fucked up it may be, will not go amiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments appreciated. Concrit always welcomed.


End file.
